


The Adventure Of The Unpowdered Nose

by Cerdic519



Series: Further Adventures Of Mr. Sherlock Holmes [55]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Codes & Ciphers, F/M, Framing Story, Jewelry, London, M/M, Murder, Prison, Slow Burn, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 15:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15439677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: Why would a woman heading out into a rainy town powder her face – and why would she do everything except her nose? Sherlock ferrets out the truth in his last case before the big showdown with Professor Moriarty.





	The Adventure Of The Unpowdered Nose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JayyBee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayyBee/gifts).



_Introduction by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet_

This case stands out not because of its nature, in which a seemingly small and trivial matter led to death, murder and intrigue. Watson carefully selected the cases he released to the general public and many of his readers doubtless thought most if not all of their cases were like that. No, this took place exactly one week before the dramatic events of _The Final Problem_ , yet my brother still found time to help out an old family friend. For all that he maintained that image of a cold, calculating genius, there was a streak of humanity in there which a lucky few bore witness to.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

_Narration by Doctor John Hamish Watson, M.D._

I was a mess.

It had taken me a surprisingly long time to pull myself together over Mrs. Faith's parting words after the French Letters Case, in that she claimed Holmes actually _loved_ me. Love was something one did not associate with someone like Holmes, and I could only assume that she meant he greatly valued my assistance as a whetstone to his sharp mind. And I was still processing that when I had my brush with death at the hands of the vile Mr. Jonathan Brooks, which brought home to me just how deadly serious this matter with Professor Moriarty really was. Fortunately after Miss Day's efficient removal of Mr. Brooks (for which she generously accepted a donation to her local orphanage) the professor knew that even an indirect threat like Mr. Brooks would not be tolerated.

It was a week before the dramatic events that would rip Holmes from me when this little matter arose. In many ways it was the perfect Holmes investigation, and I am sure that my readers will be wondering why it was not amongst my original tales. The reason was that the lady who brought the case to our attention was fearful that any further iteration of the events on the Thanet Coast that dreadful year might lead to people wishing to visit the house in which the murder had taken place, and as always I respected an innocent person's wish for privacy. She did however say that given her age I should write up the case and would be allowed to release it upon her passing, so here is the strange case of the the un-powdered nose.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

I arrived at 221B that day to find something quite amazing. Holmes was attempting to clean up!

“Are you expecting someone?” I asked, wondering how I had managed to enter this strange parallel universe. 

“Doctor John Watson, the great detective!” he smiled. “Yes, I am expecting a lady visitor. A client, and a rare family friend.”

“Who is coming?” I asked.

“A Mrs. Olivia Fulready”, he said. “She is the sister to the midwife who delivered me into this world of sorrows, a Mrs. Bethania Garsdale. Mrs. Fulready wrote and asked to come and see me whilst she was in London; I presume that her sister's recent death is the reason.”

“She wishes to consult you over the death?” I asked. “A suspicious one?”

“It may be so”, he conceded. “She is due in about ten minutes, so I will use that time to brief you about what little I know of her. Whilst you help me clean this damn place!”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Sure enough some ten minutes later Mrs. Olivia Fulready was shown into our room. Holmes had told me that her husband had died some years back and that she owned a fair-sized house on the sea-front at Margate in Kent, where she rented out rooms. In the summer season her late sister Mrs. Garsdale would move in with her and rent her own house out to families of holidaymakers, the two ladies sharing the income generated. 

Mrs. Fulready carefully took her seat and pulled back her veil.

“I have come to you today”, she said in a low, melodious voice, “because of my sister's murder.”

I started. Holmes of course remained calm.

“Of course I read the report of your sister's death”, he said politely. “From what the article both said and did not say, suicide was clearly inferred. Am I to assume that some detail or other was deliberately withheld?”

She nodded, looking around fearfully almost as if she feared someone might be listening in on our conversation.

“It was incredibly strange”, she said. “Fortunately Sergeant Dornott was very helpful and made sure that certain... information did not reach the press. He felt that if they knew the full details, people would descend on the house. A murder is bad enough, but this.....”

She tailed off. Holmes poured her a cup of tea and handed it to her, then placed a reassuring hand on her free wrist.

“Be assured, Mrs. Fulready, that we will do everything in our power to help you”, he said firmly. “First however we need _all_ the facts. What did the press not get told, exactly?”

She took a deep breath before speaking.

“I was the one who found her”, she said quickly, as if getting the words out faster was less painful. “Beth had taken up with the local theatre group; an odd bunch, but harmless enough. I was going to go into town to do some shopping and she was to share my cab as I would go past the threatre. Except when I went in.... she was dead! She had shot herself!”

“And the unusual circumstances?” Holmes pressed gently. She shuddered.

“She had done her face up with that awful white powder she used for the play, or whatever they were doing”, our visitor said. “Her face was white, except for her nose, which was not done. I thought that very odd. And then it hit me! _He_ might still be in the house!”

“'He'?” I asked, confused.

“The killer!” she hissed.

Holmes pressed his fingers together and thought for a moment.

“I have several questions that I hope you can answer”, he said. “First, was it raining that day?”

She looked surprised at that, as was I but answered readily enough.

“Yes”, she said. “Almost sleet; it was bitterly cold and I got quite wet running from the cab to the house. But why is that important?”

“I find it odd that your sister would apply face-powder, let alone leaving her nose undone, and only then kill herself”, Holmes said. “It seems irrational, and I do not like irrational. Another question, if you please, and I must be a little blunt. Was your sister wealthy?”

Our visitor blushed.

“She owned her house and made ends meet”, she said carefully.

Holmes sighed.

“Come, Mrs. Fulready”, he said gently. “I can only help you if you are completely honest with me. What are you not telling me?”

She looked down at the rug.

“After she assisted at your birth”, she said slowly, “she went to work for the Huttons up in Yorkshire. A lovely family, their youngest needed constant care or some such thing. She was there for nearly fifteen years before the break-in.”

“Break-in?” Holmes asked.

“The Hutton Diamonds”, she said softly. “She was lucky that it happened on her half-day, or she would surely have been killed along with the rest of them.

I remembered that story now. A gang of thieves had broken into the old house and killed the entire family. Although they had all been caught and hung, the diamonds had never been found. 

“You are not suggesting that your sister was in any way involved?” I asked incredulously. She shook her head.

“Beth was as shocked as I was by the whole affair”, she said. “You may remember that the killers persuaded a local lad who worked at the stables to let them in and he got hard labour as a result. No, all she had from fifteen years of loyal service was those hideously ugly jugs she always displayed so proudly on her mantle-piece. Ghastly things!”

Holmes looked up sharply.

“Jugs?” he said a little too loudly. “What sort of jugs?”

She looked surprised at his reaction, but answered.

“A set of Toby-jugs, each of a famous author”, she said. “William Shakespeare was the only one I recognized, although I think that each has the name of the person they were meant to be engraved in the front. Is that important?”

“We must go there at once”, Holmes said firmly, much to my surprise. “Mrs. Fulready, what are your plans for the rest of today?”

“I have an appointment with the lawyers in Whitehall”, she said. “I was going to see a friend and take in an afternoon show then return this evening, but if you think...”

“It is probably best for you to continue with those plans”, Holmes said, a little more calmly. “The doctor and I will travel to Margate at once; we will meet you on your return there this evening.”

She nodded at that, thanked him and left.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Inspector Gregson looked at us from across his desk. Even with my limited (as in virtually non-existent) detective skills, I could see that Holmes' mention of the Hutton Diamonds had sparked something.

“Many of us remember _that_ farrago!” he said, sounding surprisingly bitter. “The local press tried to fix the blame on the village constable who was seeing one of the maids in the house. Eventually of course we got the right man but they didn't help, the bastards. What's your interest in it?”

“The missing diamonds”, Holmes said calmly. “Something that has crossed my path suggests where they may have been hidden. What can you tell me about the aftermath of the case?”

The inspector scratched his head.

“Poor Constable Kent left the force once the fuss had died down”, he said. “Went abroad somewhere; British Columbia I think, although I did hear he did well enough for himself over there which was good. The gang as you know, all got the drop, and their accomplice was given hard labour. It only stayed in the press' line of fire for so long because of that God-awful Mrs. Thornberry!”

“Who is she?” Holmes asked.

“The colonel's sister. She expected to inherit the whole estate, but the old buffer surprised her at the last and his will left everything except a few family trinkets to charity. Plus there were the usual bequests to servants; small cash sums, and a bit to charity.”

“She was the one who pursued the local constable as being involved?” Holmes asked.

“She did”, the inspector said bitterly. “Cow! Funny thing was she did herself no favours in the end; karma does work sometimes. A local reporter called round to talk to her about the case and whilst he was there she struck one of her own servants. The reporter's brother was in service and he wrote the whole thing up. She talked of suing the paper but nothing came of it. I think she moved somewhere soon after though I don't remember where. She was separated from her husband at the time, and I don't wonder at it!”

I chuckled.

“We shall keep you informed of any developments”, Holmes promised. “Thank you for your help, Lestrade.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

I was not looking forward to our train journey that day, because at the time, railway travel in Kent was surely amongst the worst in the country. For some years the South Eastern Railway Company had had the county to itself, but then a miscalculation on their part had allowed the East Kent Railway (now the London, Chatham and Dover Railway) to build a second route to Dover, as well as a much more direct one to the Thanet towns. The unfortunate consequence had been a building war with new lines everywhere and trains of such poor quality that the London papers advised against all but essential travel in the county. Thus it was with some trepidation that I alighted our cab at Victoria Station, even though Holmes insisted on our travelling first-class.

Fortunately our journey was accomplished without incident and in relative comfort. Arriving in the town we made our way first to Margate police station, where we found a Constable Truelove, a young and athletic-looking blond fellow of about thirty years of age. 

“You'd be the second lot of folks we've had showing an interest in Mrs. Garsdale today”, he said, clearly surprised. “Never rains but it pours!”

Holmes looked at me in concern.

“And who was the first?” he asked the constable.

“Some sharp-eyed woman wearing a real fur”, he said. “Claimed to be a Mrs. Amelia Argent and the late Mrs. Garsdale's sister, but I was sure she said she only had the one and that's Mrs. Fulready.”

“When was this?” Holmes asked, looking anxious.

“A few hours ago”, the constable said. “Sergeant Dornott said he'd take her round there but he came back a couple of hours later. Apparently Mrs. F. had gone to London for the day.”

“We need to see the house at once”, Holmes said urgently.

“I'll get Fred – Constable Golding – to take you there”, Constable Truelove said. “Inspector Lestrade wired from London about you sir, so I know you're all right.”

He called through a door to the back and another blond young athlete, looking uncannily like the first constable, emerged and smiled at us. We waited by the door for the new constable to fetch the keys.

“Watson”, Holmes whispered, “did you bring your gun?”

“Yes”, I whispered back. Given the current problems with Professor Moriarty I had taken to being armed at all times. “Do you think that I will need it?”

We were interrupted by the returning Constable Golding, who had a frown on his face.

“The sergeant must still have them”, he said. “We cannot....”

“We must leave at once!” Holmes said firmly. 

“But sir....”

Holmes was already almost out of the door, and Constable Truelove and I hurried after him. By the time we had caught him up he had already secured a cab and was clambering inside it.

“Hurry!” he called out.

We rushed to follow him.

“Constable”, Holmes said as we set off, “when we reach our destination, I am probably going to have to ask you to do something that you will consider improper. It is imperative, for both your life and your future career in the police service, that you do _exactly_ what I say, no matter how strange it may seem. Do you understand?”

“But sir...?”

“Do you understand?”

Holmes could be commanding when the need arose. The young constable buckled at once.

“Yes sir”, he said firmly.

“Good man”, Holmes said. “Because we are almost there.”

The cab came to a halt just seconds later, and Holmes was first out, the two of us scrambling out after him. The constable looked around in confusion.

“This is not the Esplanade”, he said.

“No”, Holmes said. “It is not the late Mrs. Garsdale's house that we need; it is Mrs. Fulready's. And we need to be quick!”

He hurried up the garden path and paused to look at the front door, which was closed. I was about to ask if he needed our help when he pulled something from his pocket that looked like a sort of screwdriver and did something with the lock. The door opened at once and he hurried inside, us close behind him and my hand on my weapon inside my pocket.

As with so many houses of the type the door opened into a long hallway, and we were not alone for long. Two people emerged almost simultaneously, a well-dressed woman from a door to the left and a man much closer, from a door to our right. Constable Truelove gasped.

“Sarge?”

“What are you doing here, Truelove?” his superior asked. “And who are these people?”

“We are friends of Mrs. Fulready's”, Holmes said smoothly, “and you, Sergeant Dornott, are under arrest. Constable, cuff him.”

I have to credit the young constable that, amazingly, he did what Holmes told him without a single protest. The sergeant was shocked, only spinning out of his grip once the handcuffs were secure.

“What is the meaning of this, Truelove?” he demanded angrily. “I'll have you sacked!”

“I rather think that that will be your fate, sergeant”, Holmes said with a smile. “And Mrs. Thornberry, that dress looks very expensive. It would be shame if the good doctor here had to put a bullet into it because you continued your sidling towards the rear exit. Constable?”

The constable strode forward and cuffed the lady. She was in her fifties, with very obviously dyed hair and a sharp, unpleasant expression.

“You've got nothing on us!” she hissed.

“On the contrary” Holmes smiled pleasantly. “I have one murderer, one accomplice, and I am fairly sure that I know the whereabouts of the Hutton Diamonds. The two of you can look forward to an uncomfortable night in the police cells, and when Mrs. Fulready returns this evening we shall see what we shall see.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

It was later the same day. Holmes had wired Mrs. Fulready as to developments and she had replied as to what train she would be returning on. She arrived at the house at half-past seven and Holmes insisted on ordering in dinner for the three of us and the two constables (who did not object at all, I noticed!) before he would explain everything. I noticed that he had lined up the set of Toby-jugs on the window-sill, and thought that if anything our client had understated their sheer awfulness. I would not have given tuppence for the whole set.

“Now”, Holmes began, “this case all started with the Hutton Diamond robbery, and we all know about that. Except that what we know is not the whole story.”

“Eh?” Constable Truelove said.

“It was originally assumed, especially by the Yorkshire press, that the local police constable was involved in allowing the killers to gain access to the property”, Holmes said. “This as we now know turned out not to be the case. However the second person who came under suspicion, a local lad of limited intelligence, was also innocent. Unfortunately someone took advantage of that and made sure that the evidence pointed squarely at him. That someone was Mrs. Amelia Thornberry.”

“How can you know that?” I asked.

“The timings”, he said. “Her husband had left her just before the robbery, so she was financially desperate. She was the only surviving blood relative of Colonel Hutton so she assumed – wrongly as it turned out – that when he died she would inherit all. I am not on the whole vindictive, but I would quite have liked to have been there when that will was read and she realized that she was getting nothing!”

I chuckled at that. The others smiled too.

“However”, Holmes went on, “there was the matter of the famous Hutton Diamonds. It was believed by the press that one of the thieves had hidden them somewhere and that the knowledge of their whereabouts went with him to the gallows grave.”

“Did it not?” Mrs. Fulready asked.

“Yes and no.”

We all stared at him.

“”The late Mrs. Hutton was no fool”, Holmes smiled. “She suspected some sort of attempt might be made on the jewels one day, though sadly she did not foresee that it would cost her not just her own life but those of her entire family. So she did what so many people do in such circumstances. She had a set of fake diamonds made and made a great show of locking them away securely. The real diamonds she hid somewhere quite ingenious. Only two other people knew of their whereabouts.”

“Two?” I asked.

“Her husband the colonel, and the woman who was her most reliable servant, the late Mrs. Bethania Garsdale.”

“Where are they?” Constable Truelove asked.

Holmes smiled.

“Let me continue with the story for the moment”, he said. “I do not know how, but Mrs. Thornberry realized something of what had been done. Presumably one of the criminals who took the fakes realized what they were and told a fellow inmate, who sought out Mrs. Thornberry on his own release and offered to 'share the loot' for his knowledge. She then knew that the items must be in Mrs. Garsdale's possession, though not exactly where.”

“She tracks down her quarry and waits her chance to strike. However, on the day in question it chances that her victim sees her coming up the path to the house. She knows that she is doomed, so her thought is to leave some sort of clue as to the whereabouts of the diamonds, a clue that will hopefully be uncovered by someone other than her killer.”

“When Mrs. Fulready told me about the collection of Toby-jugs based on famous authors, I at once saw the connection. If I was right, then one of them should be of the French author Cyrano de Bergerac, whose works I have to say I utterly and completely abhor. Upon checking the jugs after the arrests of the two criminals, I found that that was indeed the case.”

“What about the sergeant?” Constable Golding put in.

“I believe that Mrs. Garsdale took him to the house then offered to, again, 'split the loot' with him once it was found”, Holmes said.

“But what about the other criminal?” I asked.

“Most probably buried somewhere in Mrs. Thornberry's garden”, Holmes said dryly. “I suspected the sergeant because of the distances involved; it was ten minutes' walk from the police station to either house, yet we were told that the sergeant was gone for full two hours. He was helping her search, and returned again after formally ending his shift that day.”

I shuddered. A criminal policeman! Then Holmes picked up the Toby-jug of Cyrano de Bergerac and I finally saw it.

“Of course!” I groaned. “The nose!”

Holmes smiled at me.

“Exactly”, he said. “ _That_ was the message that Mrs. Garsdale left us. By powdering her whole face except for her nose, she was saying that noses were important. And which of the authors portrayed in these hideous pieces of pottery has the largest proboscis?”

He picked up the Toby-jug and worked loose the small pad in the bottom, shaking out the contents inside. At first nothing emerged, but some poking with his finger extracted first some cotton padding, and then a whole slew of brilliant clear gemstones that sparked in the weak autumn sun. We all stared at them, aghast.”

“I am sure, constables, that it would only be right and proper for you to inform Mrs. Thornberry of our find”, Holmes said with a smirk. “And you might also contact her home constabulary, and ask them to check round her garden for any recently dug-over areas. Who knows what they may find therein?”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Holmes was of course proven right, and the recently-released Mr. Jack Burnside was found under a flower-bed in Mrs. Thornberry's garden. She was later hung for her crime, whilst the sergeant was thrown out of the police force and spent several years doing hard labour after which he thankfully quitted the country. Holmes secured a pardon for the poor simpleton who had been wrongly jailed, and in lieu of the reward money asked that a fund be set up so the boy would live his life somewhere safe and happy. Holmes also made sure that the Kent Constabulary issued a commendation to Constable Truelove for acting so decisively to arrest his superior when others might have not. 

As the diamonds were legally part of the late Colonel Hutton's estate, they were sold and the money passed to the charities that he had left the rest of his estate to, although the estate trustees agreed that one should be made into a diamond pendant for the lady who had been instrumental in finding them.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩


End file.
